by Jo Beverley
The door opened and Lord William entered in a statement of rich garments and jewels that could have been designed to counter Flambard's clerical magnificence. Three equally grand attendants paced behind him. Galeran was so accustomed to the hard-used cloth and leather his father wore at home that he almost laughed at this flamboyant display.
It served its purpose, though. It made his father's rank clear.
Lord William went directly but unhurriedly to kneel before the king, joined hands extended. A satisfied glint in his eye, Henry covered those hands with his own as he greeted him. It was a simplified version of the oath of fealty, but carried weight all the same.
"Lord William," said Henry, "we are delighted to see you in such good health."
"Aye, well," said Galeran's father as he rose, "I could perhaps have done with a day or two's more rest, sire, but I heard rumors that Raymond of Lowick was at Waltham asking about me and decided I'd better find out what he was up to." He glanced at Lowick and the bishop with a wicked twinkle in his eye. "Likely he got the impression I was sicker than I am. I think someone might have said I was at my last prayers, even."
"Indeed? We must not put your health and welfare at risk, my lord. Please sit." Henry ordered a chair brought forward, the only chair to be used other than the throne upon which he sat. It could be concern for a possibly sick man, but the message was clear.
Support me, Lord William of Brome, and I will recognize you as one of my mightiest barons, leader of the north. And I will favor your family, today and on other days.
As soon as Lord William was settled, the king said, "You are come most opportunely, my lord, for you should be able to help us with a troubling matter. Sir Raymond of Lowick claims he was legally betrothed to the Lady Jehanne before her betrothal and marriage to your son, Galeran."
Lord William stared as if he'd been told the sun was made of cheese. "Rubbish, sire."
"He has a document that appears in all ways reliable. Unfortunately, the witnesses are all deceased."
"Of your kindness, sire, have the names of these witnesses read to me."
At the end of the short list, Lord William snorted. "Someone must have combed Northumbria for men of stature dead in the last ten years, sire. But we're a healthy lot up north, and that bunch were never gathered in one spot in their lives to the best of my knowledge. Certainly not at Heywood, where I would have known of it. What's more, there are a great many names that should be there for any such document to make sense. Such as mine."
"Perhaps Lord Fulk intended to keep the matter quiet," Flambard suggested rather desperately. "This document, which I accepted in good faith, casts doubt upon the right of Lord Galeran to child, wife, and castle, so it is not surprising that you would try to discredit it, Lord William. The only true test is by the sword."
Henry looked pensively at the players. "My lord bishop, I fail to see why you are so ardent in this cause."
Galeran could almost see Flambard controlling himself. "I merely wish to see right prevail, sire, as is my duty."
"Then perhaps instead of involving Lord Galeran, who has done no evil, and in fact is blessed by his service in the Holy Land, we should ask Raymond of Lowick to prove the truth of his claim by the test of hot iron."
Lowick was no coward, but he blanched at the thought of proving his lie by holding red hot iron in his hand, then seeing how badly he was burned. "I maintain my right to prove the truth by my sword, sire," he declared.
"Your majesty," said the bishop, "the most grievous sinner in all this, both by concealing her prior betrothal and entering an illegal union with Lord Galeran, and by later betraying those vows, not to mention the murder of her unwanted child—"
"By God...!" But Galeran was again stopped by Raoul before he could do the bishop bodily harm.
"Sit, Lord Galeran," snapped the king. "I have not heard previous mention here of murder."
"Because there was no murder," snarled Galeran, eye to eye with the bishop.
"How, then, did the child die?" Flambard turned smoothly to the king. "A healthy child, sire, of eight months, who went to bed one night and never woke. And the very night of his burial, the burial of her only child, Jehanne of Heywood joined with Sir Raymond in his bed. Willingly. It seems to me that the Lady Jehanne should be the one subjected to the ordeal of iron."
Galeran could feel the mood of the room change. Thus far, he'd succeeded in keeping Jehanne in the background, but now she was on trial, and in danger. She was that traitorous creature, the adulteress. But this was much worse. There could be mercy for an adulteress, and her husband was generally the final judge. There could be no mercy for a woman who killed her own child.
"The child who died was my son," he said, as calmly as he could. "If his death was suspect, do you not think I would have acted?"
"You know how the child died, my lord?" Flambard asked in false amazement.
"I know she would not have killed Gallot." Galeran turned to the king. "My wife loves children, sire, and desperately wanted a babe of her own. It was why I took the cross and went on the Enterprise of God. And God rewarded us with a child who was the more precious after being waited for so long. I can bring forward any number of witnesses to swear that my wife was a devoted mother, and grieved the loss of her child most deeply."
"I can swear to that," said Lord William. "She does not weep and wail as most women do, but to one who knows her, she was grievously hurt."
The Bishop of London spoke up. "The question is not did she grieve, but did she or did she not fornicate with this man on the day of her child's interment?"
Silence answered him until the king said to Lowick, "Well, sir? You are the one who can answer that question."
And Lowick said, "She did, sire."
He spoke reluctantly, though, and Galeran thought perhaps he, too, wanted to keep the danger away from Jehanne. It was a small mark in his favor.
"She had her reasons, sire," said Galeran, though he knew he was moving onto treacherous ground. Even if he could make sense of it here, he didn't want to mention Jehanne's war with God. "My wife has confessed all to me, telling me everything that went on at this time. Put most simply, she was driven mad. She thought I was dead, and when her son was torn from her as if by the hand of God, she lost her wits with grief. She sinned with Lowick but the once before coming to her senses, and I defy him to swear otherwise."
"Sir Raymond?" asked the king.
Lowick glanced once at Flambard, but then said, "It was just the once, sire, and yes, I do believe she was not in her right mind at the time. I tried to resist her, but proved too weak."
There was a stir, almost of amusement, at this picture, and Galeran felt a bit of the tension seep out of him. He could almost feel in charity with Lowick. He'd seen the danger to Jehanne and moved to lessen it.
In fact, he could have clasped him to his breast in brotherly love if it hadn't been for that forged betrothal document. But that was doubtless the work of Bishop Flambard.
Who had wanted Jehanne put to the ordeal.
All Galeran's anger focused on the bishop.
It was the Bishop of London who was speaking now, clearly concerned about murder. "What of the child's death? Perhaps the lady ran mad at the news of her husband's death and took the life of her child. A sad case, but not one that should go unpunished."
It was Lord William who addressed this issue. "Sire," he said, "it was an unusual death, but not totally unheard of. Generally people say that the mother overlaid the babe as they slept. Country people talk of spirits stealing the child in the night. My son was away, so I had certain inquiries made. There was no sign of physical damage other than some bruising where the child had lain after death. Nor was there sign of poison. It is hard to kill without leaving any sign. And," he added with meaning, "it is too easy for people to point the finger when there is any trace of suspicion."
Galeran stopped breathing. His father was raising the subject of William Rufus's death. He was as good as saying
that if Jehanne was blamed for Gallot's death, Brome might join those who accused Henry of killing his brother.
He was threatening to support Robert of Normandy.
The king's eyes narrowed in the dangerous silence.
"Moreover," Lord William continued blandly, "I spoke with the infirmarian at Waltham Abbey on just this matter, it being of interest to me...."
Galeran remembered to suck in a breath. Coming out of his shock, he noticed that FitzRoger had entered and was standing just behind the king's throne as if waiting to speak.
"...Brother Garth agreed with me that such deaths do occur, with no reason being obvious. Generally the child is younger than Gallot, but all particulars of Gallot's death match cases he has known. It seems it must be put down to an act of God, that He in His wisdom decided to take the sweet child to His bosom."
"So be it," said the king shortly. "I see no cause to look longer at such an insoluble mystery, and it is surely wrong to cast stones when there is no certainty of guilt. If anyone has sinned, God in His wisdom will act."
Henry looked at Lord William as he spoke, and it was almost as if he spoke of the suspicions about himself and his brother's death.
Speaking briskly, the king continued. "It seems to me, also, that there is grave doubt about this betrothal document. Grave enough doubt for me to dismiss it unless some evidence can be brought forward to support it. Since all the formal witnesses are dead, this will prove difficult." He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm sure you, my lord Bishop of Durham, took the document's validity on trust. But Raymond of Lowick must have known he was party to a deliberate deception."
At this swift change of focus, Lowick turned pale. He stood. "With all due respect, sire, I maintain the validity of that document, and claim the right to prove it in battle."
Henry looked nothing so much as exasperated, and Galeran suspected it was true that he saw such court battles as a waste of good fighting men. Galeran felt much the same way, and any desire he'd had to kill Lowick had drained away. The man had been used by Jehanne and duped by Flambard.
And he had spoken up to save Jehanne from harm.
FitzRoger stepped forward at this point to lean close to Henry and murmur in his ear. The king's expression changed again.
What now? Galeran wondered with a twist in his gut.
He wanted to leap up. Act. Do any crazy thing to end this sneaking through truth toward safety. Jehanne was probably safe from the worst punishment, and the Bishop of London had provided the compromise that would leave Donata with Galeran and Jehanne.
If their marriage could be preserved.
That marriage hung in the balance, however, if the king permitted an ordeal by sword. If Galeran died on Lowick's blade, God would have become substitute for all those dead witnesses and Jehanne would be Lowick's wife.
Galeran watched the king and his champion, wondering if they were arranging the details of a court battle. Then FitzRoger straightened and Henry's perceptive eyes scanned the people in front of him.
"Lord Galeran," he said, "would you not agree that an adulterous wife must be punished?"
Shocked by this turn, Galeran had to rearrange his mind before he could answer. "Sire, a lecherous one, perhaps. But not one briefly demented by grief."
"But as the Bishop of Durham says, repentance can be faked, as can madness, and it is often necessary to make a public example of sinners. What if I were to command you to whip your wife, to show the world that such infidelity is not to be tolerated?"
Galeran stared at the king, who had had so many lovers. Many married. Many of whom had borne him bastard children. As far as he knew, not one had been punished for her sin. "If it were your judgment, sire," he said slowly, "then I would have to obey."
He hoped Henry heard the message that by such a judgment he would lose a loyal subject. He hoped FitzRoger had passed on his veiled warning the other day.
Henry showed no reaction, and turned to Lowick. "Sir Raymond, by your account you could lay claim to the right to punish the Lady Jehanne for her seduction of you, to the peril of your immortal soul. Would you claim such a right?"
Lowick flushed. "Nay, sire! I have no wish to see Jehanne hurt in any way. When I left Heywood, I begged her to accompany me to a safe haven I wanted to save her from just such a punishment. I have only ever wanted to protect her and my child."
And that, thought Galeran with surprise, was probably the truth, allowing for the fact that Lowick desperately wanted Heywood too.
Henry turned last to Flambard. "My lord bishop, what is your view of this?"
The bishop's eyes flickered uncertainly for a moment. "I gave judgment, my liege, and the Lady Jehanne deliberately evaded it."
"So you feel she deserves to be whipped for that evasion?"
Again Flambard's eyes searched the room as if seeking missing information. Galeran glanced at FitzRoger, wondering what news he had brought to start this new line of questions.
"Well, my lord bishop?" the king prompted.
"Yes, sire. Apart from her sin of adultery, the lady has demonstrated that she is willful and eaten by pride. She needs physical penance to help her see the error of her ways so that she may find salvation. If she could but be brought to submit herself to it."
Henry smiled. "But she has submitted to correction, and willingly. Hasn't she?"
"Willingly?" Flambard's alarmed query was drowned by Galeran's "What correction?"
His father threw out an arm to block him, and Raoul clamped a hand on his shoulder, so that with difficulty he was kept in his seat.
"Lord FitzRoger has something to report," said Henry.
The king's champion stepped forward. "By his majesty's orders, the Lady Jehanne, her cousin, her babe, and the babe's nurse were taken to St. Hilda's convent here in the city. Since the lady and her child were a source of contention, his majesty felt that they would be safer in custody there. In case the lady had any improper intentions, such as fleeing with her lover before judgment could be made, it was ordered that they all be kept in locked quarters until this hearing was over. That was the extent of the king's orders."
Galeran looked around the room again, seeking what lay beneath all this. He did remember that when he visited her, Jehanne was being kept apart.
Lowick looked puzzled.
Flambard was sweating.
"The mother superior of St. Hilda's is very strict," continued FitzRoger, "and a firm believer in physical chastisement to drive out sin. When she heard the full story of the Lady Jehanne's wrongdoing, and was told that the lady had refused to accept the penance laid on her by a bishop, she needed little encouragement to lay on the rod."
"Dear God..." Galeran whispered, again kept on his bench only by his father and Raoul.
"Steady, lad," murmured his father. "Steady."
"The lady has been beaten?" asked the king.
"The lady has been given ten strokes at each of the five canonical hours since she arrived at the convent. I intervened before the full measure could be delivered at terce today."
Galeran would not be restrained this time. He surged to his feet. "Who ordered this?"
"Why, Bishop Flambard, of course."
Galeran grabbed the front of the bishop's robe before anyone could stop him. "Then I think the bishop should meet my sword."
"Hold Lord Galeran!" Henry's hand settled over Galeran's fist, which still gripped Flambard's silk robe. The king had left his throne.
"I believe I have a prior claim," said Henry softly, squeezing Galeran's hand with remarkable strength and in clear command. But it was the cold menace in the king's voice that made Galeran release his grip.
Menace directed not at him, but at the bishop.
"Mine is the power," said Henry softly. "Mine is the judgment. By what right, my lord bishop, do you overrule my orders?"
Flambard's now-pasty skin was running with sweat. It was not surprising. He was facing the man who had bare-handedly tossed a man off the battlements of
Rouen for opposing him.
"I did not overrule your orders, sire. But I have the right as a prince of the Church to impose penance for sin."
"What penance would you ordain, then, for the forgery of a betrothal document?"
Flambard actually stepped back until he bumped up against the bench. "If it is a forgery, sire, I had no part of it!"
"Did you not? Careful inquiries in the north will reveal the truth." The king turned suddenly to Lowick. "Well, Sir Raymond? Speak the truth! Was there a prior betrothal?"
Raymond, equally white, dropped to his knees under the blast of the king's rage. "No, sire! There was talk of it. But Jehanne's brothers died before it was arranged."
"But you loved the lady and thought her yours by right?" Henry was speaking more calmly now. "You thought, perhaps, that you were betrothed in spirit." The king was offering Lowick escape if he had wit to take it.
He had.
He bowed his head. "Yes, sire. And when the Lady Jehanne bore me a child, I sought only to secure their safety with me. I most humbly beg your mercy."
Henry went so far as to raise Lowick with his own hands, smiling, though his color was still high. "And it was Bishop Flambard who devised the plan of pretending that the betrothal had really taken place?"
"Yes, sire."
"And it was he who provided the document?"
"Yes, sire."
Having obtained the testimony he needed, Henry turned from Lowick to look at Flambard. "What was the bishop's purpose, I wonder? Can we believe that he was so stirred by your lovelorn state, by the danger to your leman and her child, that he felt obliged to risk his position, his very life, to assist you?"
Again, stillness settled on the room, for they had come to the crux of it, and Flambard's terror was stamped on his face.
"Well, Sir Raymond?" asked the king almost sweetly, never taking his eyes off Flambard. "Tell us what explanation the bishop gave for helping you try to gain control of Heywood Castle."
Lowick stared around, and Galeran felt genuinely sorry for him. He was teetering on the edge of treasonous matters, and knew it.
"Sire, the bishop resented the power of William of Brome and his family. He thought that if he had a supporter in Heywood, he could wield greater power in the north."